“Four or five miles; there is a trail from the mouth of the creek.”
“And you know the way? and there might be many warriors there? they will remember you, and obey your orders?”
He straightened up, aroused as the full meaning of my questioning occurred to him.
“Ay, there is a chance there, if we find them in time, and in force enough to make foray. Sacre! I know not why such thought has not come to me before. Could we but fall on those devils from the rear in surprise, even with a third their number, they would run like cats. Mon Dieu! I thank you for the thought.”
We plunged into the forest, no longer endeavoring to advance silently, but inspired with a desire to achieve our goal as soon as possible. At the mouth of a stream entering the river, De Artigny picked me up in his arms, and waded across. On the opposite bank he sought eagerly on hands and knees for the old trace he dimly remembered. At last he stood erect.
“Ay, lass, it’s here, and to be easily followed. What hour do you make it now?”
“About three.”
“So I would have said; and ’tis not daylight until after five. We can scarce make it, yet we will try.”
It was not as dark here away from the gloom of 366 the Rock; the forest was open, and yet I will never know how De Artigny succeeded in following that dim trail at so rapid a gait. As for me I could see nothing of any path, and merely followed him blindly, not even certain of the nature of the ground under my feet. Again and again I tripped over some obstacles––a root, a tuft of grass––and continually unnoted branches flapped against my face. Once I fell prone, yet so noiselessly that Rene passed beyond view before he realized my misfortune, and returned to help me regain my feet. Not until then, I think, did he comprehend the rapidity of his movements.
“Your pardon, dear girl,” and his lips brushed my hair, as he held me in his arms. “I forgot all but our comrades yonder. The night is dark to your eyes.”